Bottleneck

by Henry, Max

I didn’t prepare myself for this. Not that there’s any way I can. Eight years since I’ve seen Emery, and he still manages to make my heart seize for a beat.

  I hate him for it.

  I drop my hand with a groan and absorb the dominant stance he has over the girl. She’s tiny, shadowed by his massive frame as he crowds her against a wall, one arm braced above her head. I could sneak on by and hope he doesn’t see me, but I’ve been the girl caged against her will before—I wish like hell somebody had stepped in for me instead of turning a blind eye. This girl must be all of twelve. Either that or younger generations are shrinking as I get older.

  “Get the fuck off her,” I grumble as I approach.

  Pretty sure the look the girl gave me was one of thanks. Or maybe exasperation. Eh. I can’t tell anymore. They all look the same with their porcelain-perfect makeup: eighteen and flawless.

  “Keep walking, Alice.” Emery doesn’t budge an inch.

  “And let you harass that poor girl? Nope.”

  “You don’t mind, do you, Clara?” He stares down at her, and the stars in her eyes damn near blind me.

  I ignore his snake-charmer routine and push the envelope. “What are you even doing here?”

  Em leans back, yet leaves a toe pushed against the wall to cage the girl with his leg. Either she wedges past me to escape, or she stays put. Unsurprisingly, she chooses to stay put.

  “We were looking for Kris, but he left already.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” I fold my arms, fixing him with a blank stare. “Kris was here to perform. You weren’t required for him to do that. So, again, why are you here?”

  “Got a problem with seeing me again, baby?” Emery croons, driving me mad.

  It sure appears plenty about the jerk hasn’t changed—including his inability to answer a simple damn question.

  “I’ve got a problem with you hanging around in the halls like a bad smell, although it really isn’t a surprise since you found something to play with.” I jerk my chin toward Clara.

  She watches us with keen interest.

  “Show’s almost over.” Emery sets a hand beside Clara’s head again, indicating he’s done with me. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”

  “And what, leave you there to maul her?”

  “What do you want, Alice?” The frustration drips from each syllable.

  “Freedom for all,” I sass, shifting my gaze to the girl. “Scoot. Time to go home, kiddo.”

  Clara shifts off the wall, yet Emery blocks her escape. “You don’t have to go anywhere just because she says.”

  “How old are you anyway?” I ask, ignoring the dick.

  “She’s twenty-two.”

  And my ass is naturally this perky. “Can she speak for herself?”

  “He’s right,” Clara whispers. “Twenty-two years old.”

  Nobody forcibly drives home the exact number like that. Ugh. “Whatever. You still don’t need this walking STD feeling you up backstage at a concert you clearly have no interest in watching.”

  Nothing pisses me off more than people who take the tickets a true fan missed out on, only to spend the time gold-digging.

  “Hey, Alice,” Em singsongs.

  I flick my eyes his way.

  “Fuck off.” He resumes his position caging the kid against the concrete. I’m still not convinced. There’s something about this that sets off alarm bells.

  And it’s not the fact I’ve seen how this exact scenario ends on more than one occasion.

  “Twenty-two, huh?” I lift an eyebrow at the girl. “That must mean you were born in …”

  She looks to the ground between her and Emery, brow furrowed, before answering. Pro tip: if you know your birth year, you don’t have to calculate it first.

  I call bullshit.

  “Just show her your ID so that she’ll fuck off,” Em groans, taking a step back. “Not that I understand why it’s any of your business how old my toys are.”

  Dearest Clara flinches at his description of her before pulling a driver license from her tiny bandeau and holding it out for me to see. I pry it from her death-like grip. I swear if Clara were a dog, she’d be shivering in anticipation of the punishment.

  My recently painted nail scrapes back and forth over the date of birth. I watch the two of them as I do it. Their reactions are far more entertaining than what I know will happen anyway.

  Turning the cleaned card, I show Emery how I’ve revealed the three in her birth year to be an eight. His jaw stiffens, the muscles at the point bunching.

  “Like I said.” I hand Clara her correct ID back. “Scoot.”

  Slowly and carefully so as not to touch him on her way out, she slides off the wall and steps between the two of us. With perfect synchronicity, the crowd roar above as she does her best not to break into a run on the way to the exit.

  “How did you know?”

  I slowly turn back to a very subdued Emery and smile sweetly. “I was underage once, too, remember?”

  The insanely vibrant green eyes I knew as a teen, narrow. So many shared memories. An almost perfectly parallel path.

  “It’s terrific to see you again, Em.” The sarcasm drips into a pool between us.

  His jaw flexes, nostrils flaring. “Still the same killjoy as you always were, I see.”

  “God.” I laugh the word, shaking my head. “You only hate me because I remind you of yourself.” With a cheeky finger wave, I take a step backward and start for where my sweats and sloth-session await. “Until next time, honey.”

  The anger he pins me with is nothing short of satisfying. I live to piss this man off. One day I may even go as far as to even the scales and enact proper revenge. But until then, making him fit to spit is enough.

  The echo of a door slamming shut drifts from behind me, and I expel the tension knotted deep in my chest.

  “Hey, girl! Fria, isn’t it?”

  Only for it to return two-fold. Face scrunched up, I consider my options. Either I can turn back and get his hooks out of my drummer, or I can keep on my righteous path and not buy into his game.

  Fuck. Sisterhood. Damn my values.

  “Emery. What are you doing here?”

  I could scream. I swear to God if I get on that bus to find somebody has eaten my chocolates already … “Step the fuck away.”

  The shit-eating grin on Emery’s face urges me to drive a fist into it to mess up the perfect symmetry. Asshole.

  “What?” He throws his arms wide, in turn lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal an inguinal crease that is much more defined since I saw him last. “You going to stop me catching up with a friend now?”

  “A friend,” I scoff, wriggling my pointer finger at the two of them. “You aren’t even connected on social. I don’t think you’ve ever met before.”

  The bastard tips his chin at my bandmate. “What’s your handle, babe?”

  “Don’t you dare tell him.”

  “What the fuck, Alice?” Her brow dips. “What is this?”

  “This is me not standing by while this manwhore uses you and tosses your ass before the sun cracks the sky tomorrow.”

  “I hadn’t planned for you to watch,” Emery teases. “But I’m down for that.”

  “Oh, fuck off.”

  “That your plan?” Fria asks him, eyebrow raised. “A one-night stand?”

  He shrugs with that cheeky boyish smile that I’ve seen land him numerous skirts in the past. “Maybe.”

  She snorts. “Well, fuck.” And loses my respect instantly. “We don’t need to be Facebook buddies for that.”

  “Seriously?” I groan.

  Fria tips her head, a lopsided smile on her filled lips. “Sorry Alice. But you’re the one with the history, not me.” She gives Emery the once over. “Sometimes, all we need is a little release between shows. Right, lover?”

  He answers her while grinning wildly at me. “Right, babe.”

  Fria heads past me for the exit. “The bus is mine for the next ho
ur. Let Shanae know.”

  I can’t even. As in, there’s nothing I can say that won’t fuck up our relationship even more. You do not screw with bandmates emotions if you want a smooth ride on tour. Jesus.

  Emery waits until she’s out of earshot before deciding to follow. His smirk says it all before he opens his mouth. “I guess I should say thanks.”

  I stare straight ahead at the security that forms a wall in preparation for the fans. “You, sir, are a straight-up cunt.”

  “Naw. You flatter me.” He takes a few steps toward the exit before adding. “You can still watch us if you want.”

  “Fuck off.”

  So much for chocolates and going braless for a while.

  THREE

  Emery

  “Typical Story” – Hobo Johnson

  Age nine, I stumbled across a box in the top of my parents’ wardrobe that screamed off-limits. I dragged that fucker down, in search of my birthday presents, and found something even better: my dad’s porn stash.

  Over the following hour, until my mother was due home from work, I witnessed what I could only describe as a utopian dream. Busty, Swedish women performing tricks that, at that age, I didn’t think would be physically possible with men’s members.

  Since then, I’ve had an unrealistic assumption of what European women are like in bed.

  I’m proud to say, on this day, that Fria revived the dream. Not only did she restore it, but she fucking rode it until her name was stamped over all those moves as though they were her own.

  The woman can sure fuck.

  “If all you wanted was to raid our fridge, you could have saved your energy.”

  I peer over my shoulder at her where she reclines on the narrow sofa that lines the sidewall of the bus …topless. “Are you saying you didn’t enjoy yourself?”

  Her lids droop, tongue peeking out to wet her swollen lips. “You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

  I drag the second-to-last bottle of beer from the base of the cooler and crack the top. “What are you saying then?”

  She shrugs, her perk titties bouncing with the movement. “Just that we all know you like to drink.”

  I lower the bottle slowly and swallow the mouthful of yeasty goodness. “You think I’d fuck you just to get a drink?” What the hell is it with women and assuming everything has an agenda? “Serious?”

  One long leg slides off the cushions, followed by the other. She arches her tiny feet as she stands, stretching tatted arms over her head. Every fucking rib on her frame protrudes beneath what has to be an artificially enhanced rack.

  “I figured you needed an excuse to get on board. Fuck knows Alice wouldn’t have let you in.”

  “I needed to blow my nut.” I tip the neck of the bottle toward her. “Thank you, by the way.”

  “You’re welcome.” She crosses over to where I stand, pushing up on her toes to retrieve some health bar thing from the small overhead cabinet. “What is it with you and her anyway?”

  “History.”

  “No kidding.” Fria settles a hip against the edge of the micro-counter and proceeds to peel her snack open, successfully drawing my gaze back to her naked breasts. “What is the history, though? She never mentions details, just that she can’t stand you.”

  “Lovely to know.” I busy myself chugging half the contents of the bottle.

  “You did something to hurt her feelings,” she tosses casually, taking her half-naked ass back to the seat.

  “Maybe she did something to hurt mine too.”

  All I get is a lifted eyebrow in response. “That seems highly unlikely.” Her nimble fingers break off tiny bites of the bar.

  “Why?” I eye her over the green glass. Bottoms up.

  “You don’t strike me as the type who gets offended easily.”

  Shows what she fucking knows. “We started out on the same circuit,” I supply, aiming for the bare-basic minimum. “And now we’re not.”

  “You think you’re better than her?” Fria arches a perfectly lined eyebrow. “How?”

  “By having the success she wanted,” I snap, retrieving the last bottle. “How else do you be better than someone?”

  “No need to get defensive.” She stares out the window while she mumbles.

  “I wasn’t getting defensive. I just don’t see the point in hashing history that hasn’t got anything to do with you.”

  She mutters something in response, but I tune out when my phone vibrates in the pocket of my jeans—on the floor. Fria watches while I retrieve the device and open up the message.

  I don’t need to check who it’s from; she has her own message notification: the death toll.

  “Who’s that?”

  I ignore the question and scan the text.

  D: Any fucking reason you left town without telling me?

  Fria slides a tank over her bare chest while I reply.

  E: It’s only one night.

  She fires back within seconds.

  D: Yeah. One night that belongs to me when you’re not scheduled on tour. So, you fucking ask. Got it?

  Jesus.

  “Problem?” Fria digs.

  I shake my head and open throat the beer before searching for something stronger. “Just the ball and chain whining as usual.”

  Silence falls behind me while I push all sorts of natural wholefoods aside in search of alcohol.

  “The what?” she finally whispers.

  “The ball and chain,” I repeat, trying the bunk lockers. “You know. The missus? My girlfriend.”

  The narrow door slams shut, damn near taking off my precious fingers. “You have a fucking girlfriend?”

  “Well. She is, and she isn’t.” I do an about-face and reach for the other locker. “I’m trying to get rid of her, but she’s a bit of a cockroach.”

  Fria’s red-tipped hand slams on the surface. “Are you in a relationship with someone?” she grills. “It’s pretty fucking simple.”

  I meet her hard stare with my own. “Yeah. I am.”

  “Get the fuck out.” Her hand narrowly misses my face when she gestures to the exit.

  “Can’t blame me if you didn’t ask first.” I give the locker a jerk.

  She shoulders me out of the way. “Here.” My jeans are thrust into my chest. “Take your shit.” My shirt and boots. “And fuck off.”

  “What the hell is—”

  “Now!”

  Fuck a duck, this chick is crazy when she rages. “Fine. Fine,” I appease, backing for the stairs. “I’m going.”

  I manage to negotiate the neck-breaker in reverse, touching rough pavement with my barefoot at the same time as my naked back collects something soft. And floral scented. Fuck.

  “Hell, Em,” Alice taunts. “You didn’t last much more than half an hour.”

  I spin around and stand toe-to-toe with my history, inhaling even more of her intoxicating scent. Enemies shouldn’t smell this good. “Been perving in the windows, baby?”

  Her plump pink lips curl up on one side as her gaze dips between us. “Call it serendipitous timing, honey.”

  “You mind?” I arch an eyebrow while giving her a gentle shove backward.

  She takes a step away, arms folded high while she waits for me to dress.

  “You don’t have to stick around. You’re welcome to join your psycho coven on board.”

  A snort rushes out. “Nope. This is way more entertaining.”

  “What the fuck is your issue?” I flick the catch on my jeans and then lean down for my boots. “It was, like, ten years ago, Alice. Let it go.”

  “Eight.” She flicks her wavy platinum locks over her shoulder and then tips her head to study me. “Can you even remember what you did, or were you too fucking wasted to care?”

  “Of course, I remember,” I scoff.

  I don’t remember shit.

  Alice gives a disgruntled rumble, lip snarled. “I would say see you around.” She notably eyeballs my mid-section before I cloak it with my worn T-sh
irt. “But I’d rather not do this again.”

  “I guess we’ll just part the same way we did before, then.” I can’t stop myself from grinning like a fool.

  “And how would that be?” Her gaze narrows, arms folded tight.

  “With me feeling a hell of a lot lighter.” I grab the crotch of my jeans and give the goods a squeeze. “And your panties knotted in a wet little bunch.”

  “Oh, get over yourself,” she hollers as I step around her and strut toward the building.

  “Tell you what, babycakes.” I spin, walking backward. “Once you get over me, give me a call.” I throw the bitch a saucy wink. “Then you can tell me how you did it.”

  FOUR

  Alice

  “Don’t You Want Me” – The Human League

  If I didn’t have a recent spray-tan, I’d run after that asshole and tackle him to the ground. See how he likes that little blast from the past.

  Instead, I’m left ruing the fact patchy skin shows up like a goddamn highlighter under the stage lights while I watch his sexy ass saunter toward the side-door. His dick probably still smells of Fria, and yet here I am wondering when the fuck Emery got so buff?

  He was always cute in that cheeky troublemaker way, but unlike most of his counterparts, time on the road hasn’t drained the life from his body.

  Not one little bit. Oof.

  “Is he gone?”

  I snap away from my biggest mistake and turn to face Fria. She stands two steps up, hands braced either side of the open bus door, a scowl on her face that says she’d tackle him too if she could stand touching him again.

  “Do me a favor and put a bra on,” I sass, ducking under her arm to get on board. “I can see way more side-boob than I want to.”

  She throws a lop-sided grin over her shoulder before turning to follow. “Stop staring at my tits, and you won’t have a problem.”

  “I can’t help it.” I cup both hands before me. “They’re just … there, in my face.”

  “I knew you were jealous.” She gives my noticeably flatter chest a playful slap on her way past.

  I sigh and drop my head back, dreaming of the chocolates that await. “You know I wouldn’t let anyone else do that, right.”

  “Do what?” Our bassist, Shanae, calls out as she comes on board.